


What We Were

by ImaRavenclaw



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, Bisexual, Gay, Mixed Race, OCD, Ravenclaw Albus Severus Potter, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 16:05:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18641464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImaRavenclaw/pseuds/ImaRavenclaw
Summary: Albus Potter is definitely not having the year of his life. So many things that make up his existence are changing, and the one thing Albus despises over everything is change. But what if the only way to get things back to the way they need to be, is to be adaptable? With war on his heels and secrets around every corner, it’s not going to be easy.





	What We Were

This is downright cruelty. Albus Potter sits crossed legged on a chair and hums to himself with his hands held inconspicuously over his ears. He would certainly be reading the book he brought (because he knew that his father would be taking forever to finish up paperwork once again) if it weren’t for the man that is sitting in the chair across for him. He is tapping his pencil over and over again, thinking while he fills out an application for a position; and though Albus is ashamed to admit it, the sound is driving him nuts.

 

After what seems like forever, the door to his father’s office swings open and Harry, jet black hair disheveled and eyes tired, looks to his son. Albus has been waiting for forty minutes (twenty-five of which he shouldn’t even have needed to wait), so at the sight of his father, his face brightens with absolute delight.

 

“I’m sorry Al, I just have one more thing to do and then we can leave.” Harry apologizes. Albus sighs and nods dejectedly, and finally, that blasted man has stopped tapping, so Albus cracks his novel and waits another five minutes.

 

When his father finally comes out of the office, he’s holding work things and motions at Albus for him to open the door, so he gets up and does so.

 

The pencil-tapping man coughs and Harry turns to look at him. “Oh, I’m sorry sir, unfortunately, I promised my son that we’d be out of here about twenty minutes ago.”

 

Albus rolls his eyes and mumbles, “twenty-five.”

 

Harry continues to tell the man that he can come in for his job interview first thing tomorrow and to just keep the application with him and bring it the next day.

 

When the chat is finally over, Albus offers to take one of his dad’s bags even though he already has a small duffel of his own, and only because he’s tired, Harry accepts. They make their way through the bustling office. Albus has to keep his dad from talking to all of his employees, young and very new aurors to old and over-worked aurors. If Harry stops to say hello to all of his co-workers then they surely won’t get home until midnight, will they?

 

Albus has to stop himself from glaring at everyone as they pass. He’s not normally in such a sour mood, but since his parents’ divorce he’s been keeping to himself, and it hasn’t been doing him much good.

 

When they finally get to the main floor of the Ministry Harry turns to his son. “How about we go for ice cream?”

 

Albus presses his lips together. “How old am I, seven?” It’s a rhetorical question, but he looks at his father as if he’s begging for an answer.

 

“No, you’re sixteen, and I know that. So if not ice cream then what will it be? I owe you an apology for making you wait.”

 

_You owe me an apology for a lot of things_ , Albus thinks. “It’s fine Dad,” Albus says. “I just want to go home.”

 

“Alright, I’m sure James and Lily will be happy to see you.”

 

Albus shuts his eyes very tightly. He doesn’t want to disappoint his father, but once again the feeling of dread he gets whenever finally staying at his dad’s is brought up surfaces. “No Dad, I mean _home_.”

 

Harry tries as hard as he can not to let it happen, but his face falls. “But, your room is all made up, and I know you haven’t been in the new house for more than a bit, and you haven’t picked out things for your new room yet, but—.”

 

“Dad,” Albus stops him. “Another time.”

 

Harry shuts his eyes tightly just like Albus did only moments ago. It’s an irritated habit they share, so it’s quite impossible to hide it from the other person. Albus looks down. “I’m sorry.”

 

By now they are standing in front of the floo, but there isn’t much of a rush to get home, so Harry stops his son and looks at him. “You don’t have to apologize, Al,” he tells Albus. “You always have a place with me, as soon as you feel ready.”

 

Albus doesn’t think he’ll ever feel ready. Ready seems like something on an unreachable horizon. But of course, he doesn’t tell his father this.

 

“I’ll see you this weekend,” Harry says, wrapping his son in his arms. Albus feels like fragile glass on the verge of cracking. Everything about the embrace of his father feels so familiar and yet so foreign that it is disturbing.

 

He watches his father as he steps into the fireplace and annunciates what he’s entitled his new home before he throws down the green powder and disappears. Albus is next, so he takes some floo powder from the pot and steps into the fireplace.

 

“Weasley-Potter Home, Godric’s Hollow!” He says and whooshes off. He steps out of the fireplace once he sees his living room, and nearly hits his head on the mantle. The house was very quiet, but now as Albus steps onto the dark hardwood floors a woman immediately calls out.

 

“Albus, is that you?”

 

“Yes!” He calls back, happy to be home. She, Ginny Weasley, his mother, comes down the stairs beaming. She actually looks quite happy for someone who’s been divorced only a month ago. Maybe it’s the sense of freedom that wafts around before the dread starts settling in.

 

“I thought you would spend the night at Dad’s.” She clearly hasn’t gotten used to adding the ‘ _your_ ’ in between ‘ _at_ ’ and ‘ _dad’s_ ’.

 

“I decided not to.” Albus shrugs then takes the duffel off of his shoulder. Ginny comes up to him and holds him in her arms.

 

“You know Albus, if you’re upset about this you can tell me.” Ginny reminds him. “You say that you’re fine, but somedays I’m not so sure.”

 

Albus thinks about it. Is he fine? It’s summer vacation and instead of enjoying his time with friends (basically non-existent) and siblings (convinced their father has no part to blame in their parents’ divorce and completely siding with him), he sits inside reading and sketching. He wonders what it’s like to have a normal life. He’ll never know though because even if he succeeds at doing all normal people things perfect, there will always be one thing he can’t change that will always set him apart: he’s Harry Potter’s son.

 

“Albus?”

 

“Yes Mum, I’m fine.” He assures, just because it’s a reflex. This is one of the many things Albus likes about his mother, the fact that she doesn’t use pet names or nicknames for him. He’s been called “A” and “Al”, “Albie”, and “dear”, and “love”, and “honey” and he hates them all. His mother is the only besides him who finds that his name is not ridiculous. And even though his father named him, he never seems to call him ‘Albus’. Not ever. Many people assume that Albus should hate his name, but though he used to, now it’s the coolest name ever.

 

Another thing he loves about his mother is how firm she is. She has secret moments of tender, but they’re hard to get out, so when you do pry them from her it feels like an accomplishment. His father cries and gets angry when he’s upset, but his mother is always calm and level headed. Even when she gets frustrated she talks to you as if she were mentioning the weather. And when his whole world is shaking around like an earthquake, Albus feels glad to have something to hold onto.

 

 

*

 

 

When Ginny proposes something to eat Albus is quick to agree. He’s hungry, and he doesn’t remember eating anything since breakfast that morning. It’s late, so instead of cooking a big meal like usual Ginny fishes through the fridge until she finds what she needs to make an omelet.

 

A good few minutes later they’re sitting at the kitchen table, soft jazz music floating out of the wireless. “It’s so quiet without Jamie and Lil.” Though she hates to nickname her youngest son, it’s a common occurrence with his two siblings.

 

“I agree. I keep waiting for something James forgot to explode.” Albus nods, before taking another bite of his omelet. He swallows and thinks long and hard about whether he should ask the next question on his mind; but this is his mother, who will answer anything he queries about honestly, so he asks. “Do you think Jamie and Lily will ever come back to live here sometimes?”

 

Ginny seems to turn the thought over in her head for a little, searching for an answer. “Do you think you’ll ever stay over at Dad’s?”

 

Albus thinks, _Now it’s actually starting to bother me that she keeps forgetting the ‘your’._ But even though his brain is trying to do everything in his power to get his mouth to correct his mother, he keeps his mouth shut tight.

 

“One day, I guess.”

 

“Then there’s your answer.”

 

“But James and Lily think you’re to blame! That you didn’t appreciate the hours he spent at work trying to keep the roof over our heads, and that you shouldn’t be so hard on him!”

 

“And what do you think?” She asked, her face not changing.

 

“I think that’s rubbish. You try just as hard as my dad, and look at this place, ”he gestured around. “It’s huge for just five people and Lily’s labradoodle. Who do they think cleans it? Oh, that’s right, _while_ she’s working, and then still there to bake us cookies and pour us lemonade! Dad’s barely here!” Albus exclaims, letting more pour out than he means to.

 

Ginny squints. “Albus, your father isn’t to blame.”

 

Albus messes his hair up and runs his hands through it frantically like he does when he gets anxious that a conversation is going in a dangerous direction. He doesn’t like to be told things that he knows, and he doesn’t like being contradicted. Sometimes his stress makes him feel like a child, which is one more thing to add to the list of things he hates about himself.

 

“I know that Mum.” He grits his teeth. “I’m saying both of you are equally responsible. Please don’t tell me things I know.”

 

“Alright.” She agrees.

 

Albus is decidedly exhausted. “I’m going to bed.” He announces, and then pushes his chair in and goes to scrape his plate and start washing it because he likes the house in order.

 

“Albus, I’ll do it. Go on to bed.” He doesn’t particularly like being told what to do either, but he bites his tongue because his mother is simply being kind.

 

 

*

 

The next morning Albus rolls out of his bed and appreciates one more good thing about being in this home. The smell is warm and familiar, and there are good memories and happy thoughts everywhere.

 

Albus’s room at his father’s will feel strange and cold when he finally decides to stay for more than six hours, but this room he knows, and it feels good to know. Maybe he was exaggerating a little last night about the ‘no friends deal’, he realizes as he sees pictures on his walls of him and some of his schoolmates laughing and waving. The walls are a nice light green colour, and they’re covered in Albus’ photography and art. His bed covers are just simple white, but he has interesting pillows that jazz it up. There are bookshelves on one side wall and large windows on two other walls. This room is a sanctuary, and he doesn’t know how to replicate that in a new room in a new house, so he’d rather just stay here.

 

 

When he comes down the stairs and goes into the kitchen, his mother is bustling around and Rose Weasley, one of Albus’ many cousins, is stuffing her face with pancakes. Albus’ mouth waters with excitement at the thought of breakfast.

 

“Morning Al,” Rose waves, using the most common of his nicknames.

 

“Rose what are you doing here?” He asks, a little shocked.

 

“We’re going to the cinema, remember?”

 

Albus searches his brain for the memory of making this plan, and eventually, it comes back to him and he nods. “Right. Sorry, sometimes I’m a little daft.”

 

“Not daft, just forgetful,” Rose tuts, raising a finger. She continues to shove his mother’s pancakes into her mouth, and when Albus sits his mother pushes his own plate towards him.

 

“Morning,” she smiles lightly. Albus starts to eat his breakfast and then he asks Rose what they had planned to see.

 

“We just said we’d mill about until we decided what we wanted to see I suppose.” She tells him, finishing the last of her pancakes. Afterwards, she hops off the stool she had been occupying and hands Ginny her plate.

 

“How’s Xander?” Rose inquires. Albus can see that she’s trying to start a conversation, but unfortunately, he doesn’t have much in the way of information about his best friend.

 

Albus doesn’t know what to say, so he shrugs and takes another large bite of pancake to avoid having to talk. Rose shakes her head and gets a piece of paper and a quill from Harry’s old office adjacent to the living room then comes back in and sets in front of Albus.

 

“You should write him. You’ve spent one whole month inside, do you really expect to spend one more locked up with your books, brains, and boredom?”

 

“I,” he starts. “Absolutely love books.” He states defensively.

 

“Suit yourself, but if I were you I’d write him. And Maia and Fredrick too.”

 

“Gyahhh you’re annoying,” Albus exclaims, pushing Rose playfully. “Fine, fine. I will do it!”

 

Rose squeals in excitement. Her cousin is incredibly sturdy and stubborn about decisions, so it feels like she’s just won a grand election of some sort. She takes his shoulders and shakes him over and over, a big goofy smile on her face.

 

“I feel like I’ve just reached the summit of Everest.”

 

“I’m not agreeing with you, I’m compromising with you,” Albus says. “I’ll write to them when we get back from the cinema.”

 

“Alright, alright.” Rose concedes. “I’m just saying that ignoring your best friend is not healthy.”

 

“You know I wouldn’t even say that Xander’s my best friend. You are.”

 

“Now that’s really not healthy,” Rose smirks. “Now go on. Go get dressed and make yourself presentable. You look like a Greater Demon.”

 

So Albus listens. He stands up and heads to his room, hoping for a Normal Person Day.

 

He doesn’t get many of them anymore.

 

 


End file.
